


moonshine

by aestheticisms (R_Vienna)



Category: Ensemble Stars! (Video Game)
Genre: Detention, M/M, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-10
Updated: 2016-05-10
Packaged: 2018-06-07 12:19:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6803872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/R_Vienna/pseuds/aestheticisms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yuzuru Fushimi is a second year transfer, and gets into a fight with Koga Oogami. <br/>Over what? Seriously, you're asking? </p>
<p>"You're a terrible person, did anyone ever tell you that?"<br/>"No, my parents weren't the nurturing type."</p>
<p>-- Koga Oogami, Yuzuru Fushimi.</p>
            </blockquote>





	moonshine

**Author's Note:**

> anyawys i love yuzukoga and no one understands except rv so sorry for literally just one big in joke . 
> 
> @ me on twitter for more suffering
> 
> \-- angie  
> @oceanblogging

**moonshine**

> "you're a terrible person, did anyone ever tell you that?"
> 
> "no, my parents weren't the nurturing type."
> 
> koga / yuzuru

* * *

 

Shit, shit, shit.

It’s not his fault. Honest. Of all the things that could possibly happen to him, this has to rank in the top ten for worse ever. His week was just starting, and now, on this damned Tuesday, he was going to rot forever. Yeah, yeah, He probably shouldn’t have been making such a ruckus outside in the hallway, but it’s not his fault that the bastard vampire decided to crawl out of his hole and ask for a favor. He never comes out of the light music room, and especially not for him, not for Koga Oogami, never in one thousand years. (At least not since last winter when he came back from the west.) Whatever. He throws his arms over his chest, crosses them with as much annoyance he can muster, and all his detention partner does is smile placidly.

Always so calm and collected, Yuzuru Fushimi drives Koga up against a wall. He sits to his right, dainty and delicate, he’s delicate, the brat. He sits in a plastic blue chair with his legs crossed at the knee and elbows against his sides, hands clasped on his lap. There’s nothing misshapen about him, he is Yumenosaki’s triumph. An honorary member of the student council, _fine_ ’s guard dog, the pink turd’s babysitter. After this stupid institution, he was bound to find himself in a decrepit alleyway, without a pack to rely on, because he spent his high school years looking after a cotton candy machine’s afterthought. 

An hour and a half under a useless nurse’s uncaring stare. Sensei couldn’t have gone to medical school. Koga wouldn’t trust the stupid doctor without good reason, like today. Today. He’s still got stitches on his lip and an ice pack on his right eye. He has to move it around every once in awhile, but he’s tired of it, and it’s making his head hurt more. He lets the chair consume him, leans back and shrugs down, he’s all bent out of shape—feet propped up on the desk. His black boots are dirty, shoelaces untied, and his uniform slacks are sloppily tucked inside. When was the last time he washed his uniform. He doesn’t wanna think about it, there’s already too much to deal with and his stupid clothes were just the icing on the shit cake. He’s abandoned his jacket somewhere, he’ll have to find it, at least he didn’t bother taking off his tie and shirt for the fight.

Fight.

“You do realize an idol’s best asset is his face, right?” 

_Yeah, and teachers weren’t supposed to be smoking inside of classrooms, but nothing’s stopping you_. Sensei sucks in smoke and puffs it out in rings. One, two, three. Icepack abandoned, Koga scrunches his nose up and makes a big deal out of getting up out of his desk and opening up the window, throwing his arms out wide and leaning over the sill, fingers digging into the linoleum casing. Breathe in, the fresh air is intertwined with the sea breeze, so far so good. and then he starts coughing, real loud and into his elbow, their school nurse looks up lazily and arches a brow. The coughing fit subsides, and turns into a series of unfortunate sneezes. Koga wipes his nose with his shirt sleeve, the long black one under his uniform button down, and sniffles pathetically. He hates spring. 

“Allergies?” 

Yuzuru Fushimi, the worst, offers him a handkerchief like he wasn’t the reason they were both in this stupid classroom. He’s got that same smile on, and his handkerchief—who even owns one this fancy. Koga raises his hackles and clicks his tongue, a loud tch is the only response worthy for a domesticated dog. Because that’s all Yuzuru Fushimi is. His right hook said a lot more than his stupid pleasantries and his _Oogami-sama_ that makes Koga feel a tightness in his chest. Sure sure, he’s the god almighty in their garbage heap of a band, but the way Yuzuru says it is so _wrong_. It makes him sick. Everything about him. He turns up his nose at the over glorified piece of Kleenex, embroidered in pink thread with a last name that doesn’t belong to either of them.

“Fine, I suppose. Oogami-sama, it would do your unit well to get some help.”

“No one asked for your professional opinion!” 

Yuzuru doesn’t flinch, or do much of anything. His responses are always so plain. They’re boring. Koga bares his teeth and all Yuzuru does is look at him like a kid that’s been misbehaving. He puts the piece of cloth back in his blazer pocket and turns on his heel, walks briskly back to his seat. Koga doesn’t follow, he hooks a leg over the windowsill and sits on the ledge, Sensei won’t say anything, he never does. If the one with glasses was here, though, he would’ve thought twice about violating such a fundamental rule of detention. Koga closes his eyes and tries to get comfortable, the whole idea was looking really stupid now, but he’s gone too far. Walking back now would be like walking away with his tail in between his legs. He’s so annoyed. he’s irritated and angry and his blood’s boiling—he runs a finger through gray hair and he seethes. He can practically hear the singsongy “Oh, doggy’s all riled up! Do you need to go on a walk” against his ear. 

Fuck!

Of course not! He’s proud and noble and detention is beneath him. He wasn’t even going to come today! Or any day. This was a sentence he honestly felt was not on him, but because Yuzuru Fushimi, again, he wants to emphasize that he’s the goddamn worst, cornered him right after homeroom and dragged him across the campus, he was here. Yuzuru's got a strong grip, and big hands. Short nails, and they dug into his hand and Koga was shouting profanities the entire time. He didn’t go down without a fight. Yuzuru looked at him with that passive stare, and told him to keep it together, and that he wasn’t going to indulge in another school brawl. 

Tch. A brawl, as if. Koga had enough to worry about, round two with this asshole would be like sinking into a coma. ( _Yeah, because you were doing so well the first time around. He almost sent you to the infirmary._ ) Shut up. His eye hurts again. The ice pack is on his desk. It’s time to throw in the towel, he stands tall and juts his chin and mechanically walks across the room to his audience of one and a half, because Sensei’s texting while walking, off of his ass, and away from the classroom to put out his cigarette. Koga makes it to his seat relatively unscathed and puts the plastic bag back on his face. It’s all melted and that only makes him sink lower in his chair. It’s uncomfortable. It sucks. He hates it. He wants to go outside, the sun’s so bright and warm and the sea is so wild, he would be okay making the trek down to the shoreline, just to put his feet in the water. 

“You think so loudly.” 

Yuzuru has his elbows propped up on the desk, and he leans forward, like he actually cares about what Koga thinks. Why does he bother trying to make conversation, Koga’s scowl only deepens. There’s three desks in between them but it feels like the distance between the stage and the balcony. Yuzuru’s jacket is folded neatly on the desk behind him, and his sleeves are rolled up to the elbow. His hair is neat, but Koga knows a bad haircut when he sees one. He’s had to cut his own bangs a multitude of times before finally deciding to give up and let it go. Wolves don’t care about grooming. That’s stupid. If they spent as much time in front of the mirror as this guy does, they would have all died. The beauty mark, according to the priss who sits behind him, is _"_ _Yuzuru-chan’s charm point~ you’re so lucky, Koga-chan_ ~ _!"_

Lucky for what? Stupid _Knight_.

“Why do you gotta comment on everything? Didn’t the turd teach you to be quiet.” 

Yuzuru’s expression does not waver, but there’s a twitch in his lips that makes Koga feel powerful. 

“My apologies.”

“There you go again!” 

Koga's up now, standing again despite the spectacle that was getting there in the first place. He jabs a ringed index finger in Yuzuru’s general direction, and his classmate only sighs. He’s always sighing, and Koga hates it. If he’s not being condescending, he’s being snippy, and he doesn’t know what side of Yuzuru he likes better. _(Neither of them. they’re too similar. There was something, there was a connection in more ways than one when Yuzuru knocked him down and pinned him against the concrete.)_

“You’re such a shit excuse for a butler. You fucking gave me this—what kind of goddamn family do you work for?” Koga points at his eye, mostly a purple-blue bruise. Two desks. Yuzuru shrugs, and taps his fingers on the tabletop. One desk. 

“The Himemiya family took me in.”

It’s so vague, and with that, Koga snaps. He slams his hands on Yuzuru’s desk, and growls. He almost wants to yank Yuzuru’s shirt collar and pull him up to his level, but it’s only then that he realizes—

“Are you fucking serious? How tall are you?” 

Yuzuru Fushimi, the plague on class 2-B’s house, stands up and he’s a centimeter taller than Koga is. That’s enough. That’s enough for Koga to yank his tie. 

“One seventy five.” Crystalline, but there’s something else, Koga isn’t the only thing tugging at him. He’s slipping up, his expression darkens and his eye twitches, the one with the beauty mark, that one, god, has his stare always been so sharp. Violet. It’s undead’s color, and for once, Koga wonders what exactly someone like him is doing with _fine._

He’s nothing better than a dog, domestication didn't do either of them any good. 

“Get your hand off of my person, Oogami-sama.”

“Tch. Fucking wuss.” 

“Didn’t they teach you to keep your hands to yourself?” 

“Not where I’m from, bastard.” 

“Ah, my apologies--” 

This time, it’s laced with something sardonic and Koga can hear a blood vessel pop. 

“I forgot the local dumpster wasn’t a particularly good teacher.” 

Yuzuru Fushimi. The absolute worst. Sensei ain’t back yet, so Koga shoves Yuzuru to the side. The force is enough to bruise, Koga knows, but if he felt any pain from slamming into the blue chair he sat on previously, Yuzuru didn’t show it. All he does is give Koga a smile that quickly turns into a scowl. Brow furrowed and eyes narrow. He juts out his chin, and the movement is so fluid it leaves a sour taste in Koga’s mouth. He hates it, the way it’s so easy for Yuzuru to look down on him when they’re on a level field. 

“Just in case you forgot,” Koga bares his teeth. Yuzuru keeps his stare cold. “We used to beat the shit out of each other in that dumpster.” 

There’s nothing after that. Only Yuzuru’s hands around his tie. Their foreheads slam against each other, Koga can’t see anything but fair skin and a nose that should be broken. 

“And I crawled out.” 

_Was that supposed to be an insult?_ Koga barks. 

“You’re still here, with me.” 

“Good grief. I leave for a second and you’re jumping each other again. Fushimi, Oogami, arm’s length, please.” Sagami-sensei says it with no conviction. He wouldn’t come between them if it came to blows. He runs his hand through his dark hair, and dangles an unlit cigarette from his lips. His gaze is comical, light, but he’s still a figure of authority and Koga knows, more than anyone, that he’s on the edge of expulsion and he has to tow the line. He has to finish this year, and the next, he has to, he has to do so many things still. He still has to sell out a guerrilla gig, he’s got to perform at the Budokan, he’s gotta take UNDEAD to even greater heights.

Detention.  Was this going to be the nail on _his_ coffin? Seriously?

Yuzuru lets go of his tie and Koga flinches. This is in no means a retreat. It’s a re...resomething. It’s something, all right? It’s not a defeat, either. He clicks his tongue and Yuzuru doesn’t even look at him. He stares straight at the whiteboard, like he wasn’t about to fight Koga in some stupid play for dominance. The clock’s hand is eternal. Koga nearly falls asleep over his mandated desk, six away from Yuzuru Fushimi. It’s not until Sensei announces their time here was over, try not to make it a habit, this is a waste of my time, and yours, that he finally scrambles to his feet and tries to make a break for the exit. 

He forgets his jacket, so he has to go back and get it. The walk of shame. He almost considers leaving it, but Yuzuru already has it in his hand, and he’s offering it out. Koga stares at him, and Yuzuru sighs.

“You forgot it.”

“I know.”

Koga yanks the jacket out of Yuzuru’s hand, and throws it over his shoulder. He turns on his heel and stalks away, back hunched over and eyes glued to the ground. Stupid Yuzuru. Stupid detention. Stupid everything. He’s late to practice, and that means that the lech was probably already miles away from school, off wooing girls, and that the vampire bastard was dead asleep.

What did he do to deserve this--

“Listen.” 

He doesn’t want to, but he does anyway, because pot meet kettle, they’re both so good at doing what they’re asked for.

“What do you want.” 

“To apologize.” 

Yuzuru and Koga fall into step with each other, they carve out a path from their homeroom classroom to the winding staircase and the fourth floor terrace. It’s a big, and open structure with lots of plants Koga hates for smelling so much. He’s sure that Yuzuru knows every name for every little flower, but when Koga asks him ( _tell me the name of this ugly thing_ ) ( **botany wasn’t in the job description** ), he can’t. It makes him feel a little better. The sky is bright orange, it’s on fire. It’s melting down into a horizon that neither of them can touch, red and yellow and then, nothing. It gets dark in the silence and the space between (they each take a corner) is more familiar than anything else here. The tiles have cracks, the ledge is dangerous. There’s no awning below, only a five story drop. 

“I’m sorry.” 

He says it so plainly. No accent. No nothing. There’s nothing in that apology. Just Yuzuru Fushimi, with his jacket tied around his neck like a polo player and his sweater sleeves rolled up. His head turns to see Koga on the other side. There’s a breeze. It plays with their hair. Disgusting.

“Shut up.” 

Yuzuru smiles, and it’s not like the ones from before. Koga could get dizzy looking at that. 

"I’m sorry for almost sending you to the hospital.” 

Koga can hear the smirk. 

“Then, I’m sorry for _not_ sending you.” 

Yuzuru Fushimi, the worst, laughs. Koga hates him a little less. He’s got a stick up his ass and he’s got a terrible mouth, and he has so much more to apologize for--but what kind of pack deserts their own. God, shit. Koga wishes he would just go home, and let him kick a can on the school roof, but Yuzuru is resilient. He is stubborn. 

"Don’t you have a brat to take care of," Koga says. 

"Yes, but now I have two." Yuzuru sighs.

Glasses chases them out of the school. Yuzuru apologizes for the both of them, knowing Koga would be useless in a situation that required tact. Koga doesn’t argue with that. They walk to the convenience store, drink chocolate milk out of a carton, and wait for a bus to take them both home.

“Same time next week?”

“No.” 

Yuzuru leaves first. 


End file.
